Rebirth
by walutahanga
Summary: Zordon changed a lot more than what was seen onscreen. PRiS era, during C2D.


**Title: **Rebirth  
**Author: **walutahanga  
**Fandom: **PriS, during C2D  
**Rating: **T  
**Summary:** Zordon changed a lot more than what was seen onscreen.  
**Disclaimer: **Power rangers is not and has never been mine. I just like to borrow the characters.

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In the moments following the golden wave, the Phantom savoured that sense of utter well-being. Around him, the villains crumbled to dust, but he barely noticed, so intent on the unfamiliar feelings inside him. Never had the robot felt so safe, so secure, as he had at that moment.

It was – he imagined – like a child would feel, cradled in a mother's arms.

But as he reluctantly turned his thoughts to reality, the feeling vanished. Confusion came swiftly in it's wake. Something was wrong.

He was breathing.

The Phantom was not meant to breathe. Oh, he could simulate the appearance of breathing, if he chose to. But he was a robot. He didn't need to, and usually did not bother unless he was trying to integrate himself within a flesh and blood, biotic society.

Now he couldn't stop. It was akin to an automatic response. Air went in, air went out. If he tried to stop, his chest began to burn most….uncomfortably. Perhaps he was malfunctioning.

"Phantom?"

The Blue Centurion knelt down beside his friend. He was looking at the piles of dust that had been amongst the most feared and brutal forces in the galaxy. They were just dust now, decimated by the wave of light that had left the two robots unharmed.

"What _was_ that?"

"I…" The Phantom tried to search his memory files for a phenomenon similar to what they had just experienced, but could not call to mind any data. "I don't know." he said. "But it must have been phenomenally powerful. All of the Machine Empire's forces appear to have been decimated."

His body took a breath, then another one. The Centurion noticed.

"Are you well?" He said sharply. "Were you also damaged?"

"I appear to be malfunctioning," the Phantom explained. "I cannot stop simulating a respiratory process."

The Blue Centurion was not designed to show facial expression of any kind, but his posture indicated concern.

"Your people have a lab not far from here, do they not?"

"That is correct. We are approximately ten point four kilometres from the outskirts of the city."

"Then let us go there. They will know what is wrong."

He grasped the Phantom's hand and drew him to his feet.

The two robots started the long trek across the desert. Usually, the Phantom would have made it without – as Cassie had once said – breaking a sweat. But half-way there, his legs started to burn in a similar fashion as his chest, and he had to stop for a rest. His limbs felt weak and were trembling.He must be malfunctioning badly if he was having trouble reaching the base.

The Blue Centurion waited patiently for him to recover.

"This is most disturbing," he said. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were..."

He paused, as if he'd had a sudden thought.

"Phantom, take off your helmet," he said. "I wish to conduct a test."

Phantom pulled off his helmet. Unmorphed, he was designed to have a humanoid appearance, though it was more for the purpose of integrating into a biotic society than for aesthetics. His hair was unusually messy. He gingerly felt a strand of it and grimaced. It felt slick and oily. How had it gotten like that? It had been perfectly dry when he first morphed.

The Blue Centurion gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Your synthe-skin shows an unusual red pigmentation, which I assume is involuntary."

The Phantom touched his cheek with the back of his hand.

"It is approximately…" He stopped, realising with dawning horror that he could not access his internal thermostat. "It is hotter than usual," he said lamely.

The Blue Centurion drew a small blade from his wrist.

"With your permission," he said.

The Phantom nodded.

The Blue Centurion nicked the Phantom's jaw. For a moment, the Phantom felt nothing. Then sharp pain shot through his face. He hissed, clapping a hand to it.

"It is as I thought," the Blue Centurion said solemnly. "You are not malfunctioning."

"What are you talking about?" The Phantom said. His voice was harsh and poorly controlled. He felt sudden inexplicable violent tendancies towards the robot. It was ridiculous. The Centurion was a valuable ally, not an enemy. He could not understand why he was feeling this way.

"Phantom." The Centurion gestured to the small cut he'd made. "You are bleeding."

The Phantom looked at his fingers. They were smeared with red.

He stared, feeling for the first time the warm wetness trickling down his neck. He struggled to comprehend what logic told him was impossible. Robots didn't bleed. They leaked battery acid, perhaps, but not blood.

"Only biotics bleed," he said softly.

The Blue Centurion rose to his feet. With a wrench, the Phantom felt a sudden distance open up between them.

"Only biotics bleed," the Centurion agreed.

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End file.
